


Mercy Killing

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 21:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13983249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Redemption could be an option, but Patroka isn't interested. Out in the wastes, Mòrag confronts a piece of Patroka's past for her.





	Mercy Killing

**Author's Note:**

> hey guess what i ended up shipping more than i expected
> 
> also i took some liberties with how battles work in the game, idk how to write fight scenes

Three individual markers stand together at full attention along the treacherous cliffs and out of reach of roaming monsters. Being exposed to the elements of the wastes had painted their smoothed surfaces into a dirty color that makes them look as ancient as all the rusted pipes and buildings that had been left to rot away in the wilderness. Mòrag crouches before them, unbothered by the dust that the wind blows through her hair. She stays like that for some time.

Patroka watches a Pterix circle overhead. Maybe it’ll swoop down and shit all over the gravestones.

“So, are we done?”

“Not yet.”

She groans. “It’s so damn hot out here.”

“Because—“

“Yeah, yeah, I _know_ , your Titan is dying and whatever.”

Mòrag stands up. Patroka has no idea how she hasn’t passed out from heatstroke in that heavy uniform of hers, but she’s not curious nor does she care enough to ask. Initially, she’d refused when Mòrag asked her to come out to the wastes with her that morning, but then she had to bring _that_ up.

These were Drivers she had murdered in her previous life. Apparently they belonged to an Urayan mercenary group, or something, not that she should know the finer details. This spot is where they had been slaughtered and where their Blades had been stolen, but one had been unaccounted for.

She supposes that’s why Mòrag had insisted on bringing her out here. A monster in the wastes had resonated with that missing Core Crystal, according to some sources, and no one’s been able to get near it ever since. No one _wanted_ to get near it. They just left that Blade out there, tethered to a beast.

As Mòrag resumes contemplating over the gravestones, Patroka tries to imagine what had happened. Why did she leave that third Core Crystal? Maybe it had fallen out of reach and a monster swallowed it up before she could grab it. Hm. Maybe. It’s sometimes difficult to discern what her previous self had been thinking, whenever they come across vestiges of her past and the scars she had left upon others.

There are… so many trails of destruction Torna had left in their wake.

But she’s no murderer— not anymore, at least, in spite of all her regular death threats. The Pterix is still circling. Patroka shields her eyes against the harsh sun as she continues to follow its movements.

“You’d better not be expecting me to pay my respects. I didn’t know these people.”

“No. I had only thought…” Mòrag pauses there, bringing a hand to her chin in thought. “… What do you feel, when you look at these gravestones?”

She shrugs. “Nothing.”

“No remorse nor regret?”

“How can I regret something I don’t even remember doing, stupid?”

She has a point there. This is different from Praxis and Theorys’ circumstances in spite of the similarities. Perhaps Mòrag had foolishly hoped that Patroka would feel compelled to atone for her previous actions, as Praxis had, but Patroka just isn’t that type of person.

She’s not _that_ type of person anymore, either.

“I don’t get why you even care. If these were Urayans, it shouldn’t be any of your business.”

“It isn’t about them. It’s about _you_.”

“… Huh.”

“You’re an entirely different Patroka. Do you agree?”

They’ve filled in enough of the blanks for her to have a pretty good picture of what she used to be. There hadn’t even been an exact count of how many Drivers she had killed and how many Core Crystals she had stolen. Patroka narrows her eyes at Mòrag. “I am who I am. No use in dwelling over the past.”

“Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it,” she recites.

“ _I’m not a murderer._ ”

“… I know. I’m sorry.”

“If I can trust you, then you oughta have some faith in me. It’s just unfair, otherwise.” Patroka glances down at the grave markers. Still nothing— she doesn’t feel anything. And she suspects Mòrag doesn’t either, in spite of all her empathy. The Special Inquisitor wouldn’t be stupid enough to waste all her emotional energy grieving for every nobody-foreigner that happened to die on Ardainian soil. This whole thing just feels more like a formality. An obligation. It disgusts her. “You could’ve at least dragged Perdido along with us, since he was my Blade.”

Mòrag is looking straight at her now. Patroka can freely admit that she admires Mòrag’s ferocity and grace in battle, but acknowledging her softer side is… hm, maybe if she pretends to examine the grave markers then she’ll stop doing that. Thing. That thing, where she gazes at Patroka like… like… shit, she doesn’t even know how to describe it.

Suddenly, she wishes anyone else were here with them. Nia. Akhos. The Aegis. Hell, even that Nopon— at least he’d be annoying enough to serve as a distraction. It makes Patroka realize how little time she actually spends with Mòrag when it’s only the two of them.

Mòrag steps closer to her and hesitantly lays a hand on her arm. Patroka’s first instinct is to jerk her arm away, but she instead freezes up and slowly looks up to meet Mòrag’s gaze with a hard glare, defiant.

“ _What._ ”

Her lips quirk up into a slight smile, and her shoulders shake just for a moment. Did Mòrag just _laugh?_ “… It’s nothing. I was just thinking about how honest you’ve been, recently.”

“Alright, well, if I’m being so honest, then I’ll be honest now—  _you’re starting to piss me off,_ Mòrag.”

“I wasn’t already pissing you off?”

“Don’t try to be cute with me. Ugh… this is a complete waste of time.”

Dust flies around them, whistling in their ears and getting between the folds of their clothes. Patroka starts heading down the trail without even waiting for Mòrag, but the sound of boots shifting stone behind her tells that she’s right behind her.

“Patroka, wait.”

“Now what do you want?”

“That Blade— I would like to neutralize the beast that had resonated with her.”

Right. That. She could’ve forgotten about it. Patroka stops in her tracks, and Mòrag nearly crashes into her.

“That’s not my problem.”

“You—“

“ _You_ don’t owe those mercenaries anything.”

“And you don’t?”

She whirls around and jabs a finger at Mòrag’s chest, snarling. “Why would I?!”

“It’s the right thing to do, Patroka. Whether or not you believe you should atone, we can’t allow a Blade to live like that.”

“Like I said, that’s not my problem.”

“Then I’ll claim it as mine, and you’ll assist me in this matter. I can hardly take care of it alone.” Mòrag lifts a hand before Patroka can protest. “Is this not a task well-suited to your tastes? I believe you enjoy that sort of thing.”

“What, taking names and kicking ass? Sure, I like that, but…” Goddamnit. She’d _love_ to go beat up some creature with Mòrag, but some of that appeal is lost when it’s all tied up with all that sentimental crap about the mercs she had killed.

… But it’s still appealing nonetheless. It’s not often that they get to battle a monster with its own Blade— alone at that, without Rex and Zeke and the Nopon hollering and making an obnoxious ruckus, without Brighid stuck to Mòrag like glue, without a bunch of _clowns_ giving her a headache.

Just some one-on-one quality time with her Driver. Sure.

“ _Fine_ ,” she spits, shoving at Mòrag’s shoulder. “Hah. You actually took me along for this because I’m stronger than Brighid, yeah? C’mon, you can admit it! It’s only the two of us out here.”

Mòrag says nothing to that. She strides ahead of Patroka and only motions for her to follow. Patroka trots after her, grinning in spite of her earlier annoyances.

Chansagh Wastes is always treacherous to cross, but most of the beasts that roam about don’t seem terribly interested in the pair. Even the Mammuts, normally aggressive and so quick to charge at any other living thing that they spot, only huff and stomp uneasily at the ground. Patroka makes some offhand comment about it, but Mòrag doesn’t seem to be interested in conversation any longer, eyes focused straight ahead and heavy purpose in each step she takes.

Soon, her temper begins to wear back down to where it had been before. The sun is beginning to dip low but the air is still thick with heat. Mor Ardain just can’t die quickly enough and put itself out of its misery, apparently.

Then, at last, Mòrag stops. She points to a hulking mass a bit ways off in the distance, low to the ground and slowly dragging itself about by two arms. A Ropl— an unusually large one, at that.

There’s a smaller silhouette trailing behind it. A human-shaped silhouette. A Blade. Patroka regards them with some mild interest, one hand on her hip.

“That’s our target, then?”

Mòrag nods. “Be careful, Patroka.”

“Hey, don’t go stealing my lines.”

The bardiche manifests in her hand and she holds it out for Mòrag to take. Their fingers briefly brush together, the spark of ether in that short moment of contact enough to ignite their link as they briskly walk towards the Ropl and its Blade.

The Blade spots them first. She looks almost panicked, and frantically glances between them and her Driver, calling out. “ _Stay away…_ ”

“Chill out. We’re here to put you out of your misery,” Patroka drawls. They’re close enough that the Ropl has definitely noticed them now; it opens its mouth, exposing a maw of jagged teeth like broken stones.

Just as always, Mòrag doesn’t hesitate. She rushes at the Ropl and swings the bardiche with a yell— and the blade bounces right off a golden barrier. Startled, she stumbles backwards.

“What—?!“

“ _No!_ ” The Blade extends her hands, palms out. “ _I don’t want to die!_ ”

“She’s protecting it…” Mòrag mutters in disbelief, leaping back to temporarily give them a wide berth. She turns to Patroka, frowning. Patroka just shrugs.

“Makes sense. She could’ve killed the Ropl herself a long time ago.”

Mòrag prepares the bardiche, lowering herself into a ready stance. The Ropl is lumbering towards them, dust and dirt flying, its Blade running to keep up. “She deserves to live, but not like this!”

“Oh, you and your bleeding heart!” Patroka bares her teeth, the flow of ether surging between them. They have only a few split seconds before the distance is closed. “Get ready, Mòrag!”

Patroka dives to the side just as Mòrag rolls out of the way. The Ropl makes some sort of guttural sound and swings its tail around— they jump, and Mòrag takes a stab at it. Again, the bardiche glances off a barrier. They land heavily, Mòrag’s arms ringing from the impact and Patroka wild-eyed and thirsting for blood.

Again, Mòrag shouts and strikes. Again, she stumbles backwards.

Before Patroka can tell Mòrag to get ahold of herself, the Ropl twists around and belches fire at them. She’s barely able to get her own barrier up just in time to shield them both, but they still skid backwards across the blowback. Patroka is gritting her teeth in concentration. Barriers aren’t her thing. Never were.

“That Blade is being a serious pain in the ass…!”

“Hold your ground! We need to find an opening!” Mòrag is quick on her feet as she weaves around each mouthful of flames the Ropl spits, taking quick stabs at it between each dodge and bouncing off a barrier each time. Even her Arts, the power of Earth making the ground tremble beneath them, can’t break through.

It’s only a waste of energy. Patroka runs to Mòrag’s other side, focusing more ether into the bardiche in hopes that it’d at least gradually chip through those _damn barriers_. Her eyes flit to the Blade— she’s wielding her axe, holding it up, but her stance changes when she notices Patroka looking her way—

She raises the axe and strikes the ground, sending a shockwave of flaming ether in Mòrag’s direction at the same time the Ropl tries to headbutt her. Mòrag is jumping out of the Ropl’s way, and right into that shockwave’s path.

 _Damnit_. Too much of her ether had been concentrated into Mòrag and the weapon; she doesn’t have enough to spare to throw up a quick barrier. Mòrag yelps as she’s struck and she hits the ground, dazed.

“Shit! You stupid—“ A string of colorful expletives follows. The Ropl bears down on Mòrag, but crashes into a barrier. “Focus, Mòrag! This is getting us nowhere!”

 _”Just leave me alone!”_ The Ropl’s Blade shouts.

“Fucking die already, will you?!”

“There—!” Mòrag is back up on her feet, and she drives the bardiche into a relatively soft spot in the Ropl’s side, taking that second of distraction as the Blade had been crying out. The Ropl lets out a roar and thrashes, but Mòrag is already out of its way, taking another stab at it.

But it could hardly even be called a scratch. Its hide is too _tough_ , like armor. That single wound Mòrag had been able to inflict hardly even bleeds.

“Patroka!” Mòrag suddenly throws the bardiche to her, and she readily catches it.

“Whatever!”

The Ropl roars again as Patroka spears it at the base of its thick neck in a swift flurry, but then that Blade— she’s aiming at Mòrag, and Patroka is forced to throw the bardiche back to her in order to focus on shielding her.

 _”Seriously?!”_ she yells. Mòrag is shouting as well, striking as hard as she can at the Ropl’s thick hide and the Blade’s barriers. Sweat drips down her face and her breathing is getting labored, and the Ropl suddenly pauses in its firebreathing and short lunging and snapping.

It pauses, to brace itself and suddenly _flip over_ , its entire bulk coming down upon Mòrag. She dashes away, but not quickly enough— Patroka grunts as her hastened barrier is shattered and Mòrag is clipped; there’s a sharp cry of pain and she goes flying from the impact, hitting the ground hard.

Their connection dims ever so slightly.

Mòrag isn’t moving.

“Hey! Quit napping and get up!” Patroka rushes to Mòrag and kneels beside her, roughly shaking her by the shoulder. Mòrag softly hisses in pain, but she still isn’t moving. There’s blood dripping down her temple.

There aren’t any visible wounds, but she’s bleeding from _somewhere_. That single attack had nearly taken her out in one hit— she shudders to think of what would had happened if the Ropl had fallen entirely on her or if Mòrag had been just a little slower.

And she _is_ slower here, without Brighid to enhance her speed.

The Ropl rolls over to right itself up and lumbers towards them, the Blade walking in front of it. Patroka has never wanted to kill anybody so badly before.

Her knuckles turn white.

“You…! How _dare_ you do this to my Driver?! You worthless piece of garbage! I’ll shatter your Core Crystal into dust!” The rage is feeding her ether, but Mòrag isn’t taking any of it in. Patroka stands up and violently gesticulates, shouting herself hoarse.

_"I told you to leave me alone.”_

She looks down at Mòrag, at her winces of pain and her half-lidded eyes, fading in and out of consciousness. The sight almost wants to make her laugh. Perhaps it’s only her rage, blazing.

“If I killed your previous Driver, then I can kill your current one! I’ll kill _you!_ I’ll kill you both!”

The Blade stops. The Ropl stops too, driven more by senses and instinct than anything else.

“ _You… killed my previous Driver? You’re the reason why I’m stuck with this thing?”_

The past is catching up and overtaking her in a way she never wanted. So much for a simple task of killing a monster. Patroka laughs again, Mòrag still lying at her feet, groaning and gingerly touching her head as she struggles to get up. For now, Patroka pays her no mind, glaring at the Blade instead with a cruelly twisted grin.

“That’s right! It’s aaaall my fault!”

“ _I see…_ ” The Blade twitches. She hefts her axe over her shoulder, and it almost looks as though she’s going to back down, but she resumes approaching them. Patroka steps over Mòrag and stands in front of her like a predator protecting its kill, fists clenching and unclenching. The Blade’s face is unreadable.

“ _I’ll kill your Driver, then. I’ll kill her then I’ll give your Core Crystal to this beast and have it resonate with you. Then, you will suffer with me. You will know what you had put me through for two whole years._ ”

“Patroka…” Mòrag wheezes. She’d somehow gotten back up to her feet, but she’s unsteady and the blood had run into one of her eyes. Still, she tightly grips the bardiche, unwilling to let go.

Patroka sighs. Her face had gone stiff with rage.

“Like I need to atone for that _bullshit!_ ”

All that ether and all that rage is suddenly rushing into Mòrag. She feels Patroka’s anger flowing through her muscles and numbing the pain– and Patroka can feel her Driver’s steady calm, anchoring her down and clearing her head.

Patroka is a blur as she snatches the bardiche from Mòrag and attacks the Blade head-on, viciously slashing and stabbing. The Blade is forced back, back away from the confused Ropl, her axe too heavy to match Patroka’s speed and her barriers beginning to waver beneath the relentless blows.

“ _It’s all your fault!!_ ” The Blade screeches.

“Who gives a damn?! I’m not doing this out of guilt! I just really wanna kill you!”

The Ropl, meanwhile, barrels towards Mòrag like a train (a massive, gnashing, fire-breathing train), unaware that protecting its Blade should have been its priority. Reinvigorated by the boon of ether, she easily dodges what could have very well been a fatal blow. Unsurprisingly enough, the Ropl is unable to stop and finds itself skidding even further away from its Blade, and their ether connection visibly weakens.

Mòrag and Patroka are both ablaze in gold, back-to-back and between the Ropl and its Blade. The Blade gathers her bearings and uses both her axe and barriers to properly ward off Patroka’s vicious onslaught of attacks, but it’s enough. Her flow of ether had been diverted away.

The Ropl is open.

“Give ‘em hell, Mòrag!”

“Roger that!”

This is, frankly, the stupidest thing Mòrag has ever done, but she’s too far gone on the high of Patroka’s rage-fueled ether to care. As Patroka continues trading blows with the Blade, Mòrag sprints at the Ropl and rams her shoulder against it— a mere insect in comparison to its weight, yet it still trembles and stumbles from the blow.

She winds an arm back and _punches_ it, right in the jaw.

The Ropl makes an odd sound as its recoils, and Mòrag punches it again.

Each punch and kick is like a blow from a cannon. She doesn’t even have the mind to marvel at her amplified strength. She can understand it now— Patroka’s fury, of the delirium that’s so difficult to break through, of the bloodlust threatening to overwhelm her.

It’s… fun.

The Ropl’s Blade cries out in alarm but it’s too late. Mòrag is beating the Ropl senseless with her bare fists and the Blade can’t do anything while she’s fending off Patroka’s attacks. At last, she falls down to one knee, and Patroka swiftly kicks her in the face to stun her for a couple seconds. A couple seconds is all they’ll need.

“Finishing blow! Now!” she roars, throwing the bardiche. The bulk of her ether flows away from her and inundates Mòrag, the blinding glow nearly painful to look at.

Mòrag leaps high in the air to catch the weapon, suspended at the peak of her arc for a singular, beautiful moment— and twists, using the momentum to violently drive the bardiche straight through the rocky crest of the Ropl’s head with exact precision upon her descent. There’s a grotesquely wet crunch as the tip of the blade lodges itself deep in.

With a weak guttural cry, the Ropl spasms then goes limp, defeated at last. The Blade sobs.

“ _I just… wanted to live…”_

Patroka looks down at her as she fades away, completely impassive.

“Pathetic.”

The glow of the Blade’s Core Crystal dulls. She sadly closes her eyes.

Evening falls, and a dusty wind blows through the wastes. Dried grass caresses the dull Core Crystal that had fallen in the dirt. Mòrag yanks the bardiche out of the Ropl’s head and jumps down, limping towards Patroka, all too keenly aware of how _sore_ she is now that the adrenaline and ether are no longer driving her. She leans against the weapon for support, carefully watching Patroka as she turns the Core Crystal over in her hands.

“I could crush it right here.”

“Don’t,” Mòrag quickly says, out of breath. “Hand it over…”

“Let me kill her for good!”

“Would that not make you a murderer?!”

She freezes, and her grip on the Core Crystal slackens. For a moment it looks as though she’d strike Mòrag over the head with it, but all she does is quietly scowl.

Patroka lazily waves a hand and the bardiche vanishes. Mòrag gasps out in surprise and squeezes her eyes shut, prepared to painfully meet the ground, but instead an arm catches her around her middle. It knocks what little breath she had out of her, but it stops her from collapsing. She looks up. Patroka is looking elsewhere, her wild fury already fading away to be replaced by bored indifference now that the fight is finished.

“… Whatever.”

She shoves the Core Crystal at her; Mòrag gratefully closes her fingers around it. It would be a long shot, but maybe she’d be able to find that mercenary’s family and return it to them. If not that, then at least the Blade would have a better life working with a Driver in the Imperial Army.

“You’ve done well, Patroka.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she snaps, but her expression actually softens somewhat. “You weren’t half bad either.”

“Your praise means a lot.”

“Hey, what did I just say about patronizing me?” She lightly punches Mòrag’s shoulder, her other arm still supporting her even when she's able to stand on her own. “… It was fun. We should do it again, sometime.”

A flicker of worry passes across Mòrag’s face. She could see the old Patroka for a split second, the one who remorselessly hunted down Drivers and killed them to steal their Blades. A shudder that passes through her draws Patroka’s attention— their eyes meet, and Mòrag visibly relaxes by what she sees.

She's fine. This is fine. There was never really anything to worry about. 

“What’re _you_ looking at.”

“Do I always need a reason to look at you?” She straightens up and Patroka’s arm slips away, but Mòrag is quick to grab her. Her hands hurt; just flexing her fingers sends jolts of pain up to her elbows. Her wince is noticeable enough for Patroka to actually hold back another verbal barb and wait to see what she does next, and Mòrag shakily removes her hat as she leans in.

The kiss is slow and underwhelming in comparison to the excitement from the battle. She doesn’t respond, at first— and Mòrag is about to draw back and apologize, but then Patroka is flinging her arms around her neck and… biting her lip.

Mòrag makes a pained noise. Patroka breathily laughs and returns the kiss with thrice as much aggression. She smells of sweat and blood and that single stupid strand of hair tickles her face, but… whatever. Those little annoyances seem so far away now, like all’s right in the world, somehow, the improbability so ridiculous and damn beautiful.

She only lets go when Mòrag begins to frantically pat at her shoulders.

“… Wow, you suck at kissing,” is all she says.

Out of breath and slightly flushed, Mòrag puts her cap back on. “I- I see… I hope you’ll allow me to practice, then.”

“You’re such an idiot, Mòrag.”

But there’s a certain fondness in the way she says it, and she gladly hooks an arm around Mòrag’s as they begin the long trek back to the city.


End file.
